A priest's confessional
by Cloudbunny
Summary: What could possibly come to the mind of a priest and the father of a crazy sniper nun? That, my friends, is what you are going to see in this close look at this priest's mind and life (rated M for language and disturbing contents in one or two chapters) Joseph & Yusra fanfic
1. Warnings for snoopers

This diary is the propriety of me, Theodore Richard Dixon. As such, I do not permit anyone except me to write and read it. Especially not you, Mary, and if you see Peter reading it, I'd like it if you stopped him. If you are reading this honey, I'd like to remind you that in the 10 commandments it says to honour your father and snooping around my things aren't exactly honouring me, don't you think so? You should really do something more useful of your time, cupcake, May I suggest cleaning your room? It look like a pig pen, and I think I found a squirrel skeleton in there last time I checked (which is pretty disturbing, why would you keep such a thing?) or if you like to sleep in an unsanitary room, you can unload the dishwasher, clean the church, study for school (yes, knowing what is the capital of Missouri is important and no I won't tell you, I bought a computer for that and not so that you can torture virtual humans by burning their houses, starving them to death or deleting the ladder of their pool.) , Cleaning Vlad the Impaler's (why didn't you name him Snowflakes like I wanted? This name is weird for a Ragdolls cat) litter, take care of all your guns…I could go on all day. So now, please leave my diary alone and go do your chores, I love you, even if you are very lazy.

If it is you Peter, respect at least my privacy and stop bringing so much Whiskey to my house! You are corrupting my daughter and you are going to get liver cancer, so please stop! Oh, and thanks for the new sniper rifle you offered Mary, she loves it more than her own life it seems.


	2. How I Met My Daugther

4th April 20XX

This is a strange feeling, holding this book on my lap and writing in it. Isn't this something teenage girls do? I think a 52 well, a 53 as of today, years old men shouldn't do this but…it's a gift from my best friend, plus I always liked writing so I suppose it'll be a fun experience.

Let's see…where do I begin? I'll introduce myself, that's a good start, right? My name is Theodore Richard Dixon, I am 53 years old as of today and I am working as a priest since…16 years, I think? Probably less than that, but it's been a long time, now that's for sure. I don't do a lot during my free time, besides reading, fishing and taking care of my daughter and our cat. Really, I live a tranquil live in quiet piety and peace, in this rural little village of Georgia. Well, that's a lie. With a daughter and a friend like mines, I don't think I'll ever be able to live in peaceful devoutness.

Right, let's begin with my daughter next. I know what you are thinking, how can a priest have a daughter? Oh, I get asked that a lot actually. Either people think I broke my celibacy vows or that she is actually my…lover? Victim? Whatever term they prefer at the moment (will people _please _stop thinking that I want to do ''things'' with her? That's just disgusting, seriously). Now, I remember everything: It was a very hot summer night. The kind that makes you melt into place, where even the wind is sticky and where mosquitoes seem to spawns everywhere. The joy of being in the south is endless, really. This night, I just couldn't fall asleep, no matter how much I wanted to. Even trying to read my old college chemistry textbook (god do I hate chemistry, I don't even remember why I took the course) didn't put me to sleep nor did a cold shower do anything. So I decided that maybe it would be a great idea to take a walk around my church, it looks absolutely beautiful at night when the moonlight go through the stained glasses, so peaceful and inspiring. I was sitting on a bench, just looking at the stained glass of the Virgin Mary when I heard a loud dropping noise and what sounded like a mix of a sobbing and whining sound. At first, I tough it simply was a wild dog, in a rural community like this they are sometimes wandering the streets everywhere and I quickly got into my home to grab a handgun (what if it had rabies?) and opened the door carefully.

Right behind the door was a little girl, no older than 2 years old, lying unconscious on the floor. She had very dirty clothes and hair, like she didn't wash herself in weeks and had bruises everywhere on her body, as well as some rashes on her hands and upon closer inspection, a deep cut on her back that coated her whole shirt in blood! I was more than shocked. Who would do that to a little girl?! I tried to look into the darkness to see the son of a bitch (pardon the language) who did this to the toddler. Fortunately, when I checked her pulse she was still alive and after sighing of relief I took the little girl in and treated her wounds, gave her a bath (it was hard when she was asleep but it could have been worse) and let her sleep in my bed while I slept on the couch. She was unconscious during 3 days I think before she woke up. Strangely, she didn't say anything and just kind of began to follow me around like a duckling follows its mother, not speaking up for the whole day and just clutching at my pants the whole time, pointing to what she wanted. I don't remember why I didn't send her off after a few day to social care like all the others (we'll come to that later) but I suspect I couldn't say no to that blonde little angel that seemed so dependent and needed help to do everything.

Of course, she changed in 12 years ; now, she is almost as devout as me, speak and swears a bit too much for my taste and would marry her sniper rifle if it was legally possible. I don't know what happened either, but I think it have to do with Peter…

Peter. Oh Jesus Mary Joseph, Peter.

He is one of the tallest and most well-built guys I ever met in my entire life, even at age 55. In fact, If I saw him at a distance I would probably think there was a wild grizzly outside (well, he is not that hairy but close). He is both the friendliest and most hateable person I know ; He swears like a sailor and loves to brawl at bars for no good reasons just for the hell of it, then light up his cigarettes and drink a can of beer before going to watch a movie with my daughter or teach her how to play baseball. A mystery, I tell you. After his divorce with his second wife he moved just left to us and began to break into my house to look at the football matches with his alcohol or just to rant about Idaho or whatever is bothering him at the moment with me, even if I honestly don't care or don't have the time. At least, he was a competent babysitter when I couldn't do things with Mary for a little while, even if this involve a shooting range or punching fishes in the face to show her the ''manly'' way to fish. He is my best friend, and yet I have no idea what goes on in his mind most of the time.

It's late now and my hand hurts, I still cannot believe how much I actually wrote in here just talking about my daughter and my best friend. Well, I have to go to sleep if I want to survive another day tomorrow, so it will be it for today.


	3. Prom season

20th April 20XX

I know I shouldn't be writing at 2 AM in the morning and try to get some sleep, but with all the cries for my attention I just can't close an eye. This is Prom season after all, and it's been like this for 16 years, but it's still my most hated time of the year. It makes me go absolutely insane.

Oh, right, Prom Season is pretty unknown for people outside my job. Let me try to explain; you see, teenagers these days have sex more often than rabbits, and breed like them. And of course, they think that the house of the Lord is the best place where to drop their unwanted babies, and I end up having to take care of them with Mary and Peter. Okay, mostly Peter and me, because Mary have the maternal instincts of a rock and Peter did have two children (Well, three technically but let's not talk about his first daughter) before his divorce, so he knows how to take care of children. However, this year, we were lucky; we got only 20 newborns! And they all fit into the spare room in the rectory. The only problem is that said spare room located right between my and Mary's room, making sleeping or doing something other than feeding and changing their diapers really difficult. I really can't wait for Social Services to come pick them all up, since I am now hallucinating elephants everywhere, and concentrating for sermons and serving the Lord is hard. Oh well.

But let's change subjects; talking about this is going to make me more tired. Mary is on a trip to Peter's hometown in Louisiana, he tough a hunting trip here would help her calm down from Prom Season and i think he needed to go get his inheritance for his uncle death. This is the one of the first time I'm not with her when she is travelling, and I worry. I mean, Peter hometown is close to…two swamps I think? Three? What if she was attacked and eaten alive by a crocodile?! Or that Peter, without my supervision, did Meth again and had an overdose or get in jail for doing stupid things like stealing cars?! Or worse, what if he got my little girl to try drugs and heavy drinking?! Or worse than the worse, what if after Peter showed her all these awful things she would like it and then become addicted and become a godless prostitute to pay for her addiction who get killed by a crazed serial and then I have to live with the guilt and shame that my baby was corrupted by that brain damaged junkie?! Oh goodness, just writing and imagining my adorable, innocent little girl being like that make me want to drive to Louisiana and bring her back to Georgia, where she will be safe from all these satanic crocodiles and drug addicts! (I hate crocodiles; they look so smug and untrustworthy)

I know I'm exaggerating and there is no way in hell my precious Mary would do anything like that, but still I can't stop worrying for her well-being, she always get in such troubles all the time... I shouldn't worry about them, Mary has her preferred rifle and Peter bought recently a new hunting shotgun and a machete for the trip, and I made Mary check her bags 10 times to be sure she had all her meds (God forgive that she forget to take them, the last time she did was an absolute nightmare for everyone involved) so everything should be okay_. Should._ I can never be sure what they are up to, they are worse than two years old toddlers. At least two years old only get squirt guns.

Talking about two years old, I have a little secret I hide from Mary. You see, I always tough that maybe if she knew about her biological family she would have some sort of closure, or maybe just relief. Plus, she would know more people beside me, Peter and some member of the congregation; it would make her socialize with others! So I made researches and I think I found her distant cousins in New York (the state, not the city). I hope that I found the right people, tough.

Oh dear, the babies decided that they all wanted to eat at the same time or at least wake each other up. This is why I choose celibacy. Well, it sounds like it will be it for tonight, so farewell, journal. May God have mercy upon my soul.


	4. St-Monique-Of-The-Blaizing-Fla mes

10th May 20XX

We finally, finally moved! I'm so relieved; we had so many boxes for out things I was having nightmares about boxes! Our new city is called Saint-Monique-Of-The-Blaizing-Flames, St-Monique for short. It's around 10 km from New York City, which probably explain why that town is so big and have such a big Jewish community! I am a bit ashamed to say it, but right after I finished unpacking and looking at our new house and church, I almost sprinted to the library (I quite enjoy books, a little bit too much I think) to see how it was, and Jesus, Mary, Joseph, I wasn't disappointed! It was so calm and quiet, with this distinctive smell of old books floating in the air. There were large, almost gigantic open windows where the sun's rays were entering to warm the piece, some teenagers making their homework's on the tables or at the computers and I think there were some child upstairs hearing stories from an elderly women. Compared to the dreadful library we had in our little Georgian town, it was Heaven on Earth. The only bad thing was that they didn't have enough books on fishing and history, or at least history that didn't concern the United States. I really wanted to learn about the Victorian era, the French Revolution and the Black Plague…such a shame. However, I found a book about the history of the town! Why it had this strange name, was so big and had such a thriving Jewish community! It was a big, red leather-bound book and so very heavy!... It took at of my strength to drag it to my seat, but heavy books are almost always the best, at least for me.

Apparently, the town was originally named Willow Spring, and it was a really strange town; there were two parts of Willow Spring, the catholic side and the Jewish side. Both sides came to Willow Spring to escape the harassment they both endured at the hand of Protestants. They were still very prejudiced toward each other, and that's why they decided to create two connected ''villages'' ; there were two town hall, two doctor office, two school and so on. The only thing connecting them was a little pond that traversed the eponymous spring, a giant Willow tree looming over it. On the 20th June of 1754, the daughter of the Jewish side mayor was found being, ahem, teach the art of love by the catholic side doctor son, if you catch my drift. The pair was found going at it by the girl father under the big Willow tree, and the over-protective father tried to shoot the poor boy in the head for ''dishonoring his daughter''. Fortunately, he was able to get away in the forest with only four bullets in his body, and all non-fatal! Sadly, the habitants were at each other throats, saying terribly racists insults to each other, that I do not want to put here. They finally came to a compromise; they were to be stoned (no, not like the kids of today do) for the crime of making love outside of marriage, and with someone of another race, too! Beside the victims, everyone was okay with it, except a lady named Monique, who called them out on this. Now, don't ask me how a women, especially a BLACK women, had any power on what everyone said in 1754. I have no idea either. Anyway, she made a heartfelt speech on love, respect and tolerance between races and religions, so the two mayors asked that if she wanted to save the two lovebirds, she would be the one killed. By being burned at stake. I think they were either crazy or trying to get her to back off (I suppose?...) And so she was burned at stake, and was still saying things about peace and tolerance as she burned to death. For some reason, her death made people realize that hating each other was stupid, they united to make one big town and re-baptized it ''Saint-Monique-Of-The-Blaizing-Flames'' in her honor. With the conjured efforts of the population and the proximity to NYC, the town became a thriving city who made lots of money on tourism, arts (seriously, the number of artists here is gigantic!) and for its restaurant. It's pretty much Paris, except in the US, and without the snobby waiters who keep giving you trouble because you can't pronounce ''butter'' the European way. Urgh, Paris, I really prefer Nice, such a pretty city…almost like Italy, except with French women and monokini. Not that I ever looked at women in monokini, that's way too distasteful for a man of God…yes, way too distasteful, absolutely.

But that's not what I wanted to talk about! We also finally met the Witz, Mary's biological cousins! Charming people, really, they had such a good selection of tea and biscuits, that boy Joseph should go to culinary school, I say. My dear daughter seemed to love them, too! She couldn't stop hugging her cousin; It was so adorable to see her excited like that! Speaking of her cousin, he sound and is a very pleasant young man, he truly is, and yet I think he may have some…well, he is a bit of an original. For example, In the middle of the conversation he left hurriedly to go upstairs, looking like he was going to burst from laughter. Strange, but what can you do…I continued the discussion until nature made its call and I too got upstairs, and as I passed his room, he was just laughing and smiling alone on his bed. With no book with him or a tv, just…he was just laughing like a madmen.

''Stop that please, I have to go downstairs soon or they will notice I've been there too long…-he giggled like a schoolgirl who saw her crush again- later, okay?''

He then just went downstairs and acted like everything was perfectly normal and I didn't just witness him acting like…like that

…

To this day, I have still no idea what he was doing in there… maybe he is just mentally ill? I mean, he was acting normally but…but still, I don't get it. And he couldn't be taking drugs, now, he didn't look high at all when he came downstairs (believe me; I saw a lot of high teenagers when I was in college. Good times, good times)

Oh well, that's not what is important! The important thing is that we finally moved and that Mary's family members are a good person, that's what matters in the end!


End file.
